


Inspirational

by aohatsu



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: F/F, Gender Changes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-28
Updated: 2013-10-28
Packaged: 2017-12-30 17:41:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1021524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aohatsu/pseuds/aohatsu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prunella Karlie Subban is not shy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inspirational

**Author's Note:**

> No offense intended; minor hints of homophobia/racism exist within the fic, blah blah blah.
> 
> I had a craving for PK/Carey but nobody is writing it, let alone girl!au PK/Carey, so I decided to just do it myself. Thus, this is me feeling them out. Take it with a grain of salt!

Prunella Karlie Subban is not shy when, upon joining her new team, somebody actually tries to _call her_ Prunella. "My name is PK!" she yells, and shoves the kid so hard he falls on his ass, looking back up at her with ridiculous wide eyes full of surprise. She rolls hers and turns around, gripping the red tape around her stick, and gets ready to play.

The first person she ever kisses is a girl at her middle school, because she was invited to a sleepover and her mom thinks she spends too much of her time with boys. It's stupid; there's like six of them, and they pile onto Britney's bed and grab stuffed animals while watching some R-rated movie that isn't scaring PK at all. When the main character gets her head cut off, all of the other girls start screaming and the bed shifts dangerously, and it's probably an accident, but Britney is clinging and somehow in the dark, her lips press up against PK's.

It makes everyone laugh, until the movie gets scary again, but PK's heart won't stop beating like a freight train, and when she gets picked up in the morning, Malcolm whining in the backseat, and her mom asks her how the sleepover was, all PK can really think is _oh_.

That's probably why she's never wanted to kiss any of her teammates, then.

When she's just starting out playing on the boys teams, most of the chirping is stupid stuff, like shouldn't the tape on her stick be pink? Shouldn't she be wearing a unitard and spinning around, not smashing boys up against the boards? But the more she plays, and the more she proves that she's good--that she's hear to _stay_ , and this is what she wants to do, the worse the chirps get.

If they can even be called chirps. She wonders if this is what it feels like to be bullied; she never has been, really, but she knows Malcolm was getting made fun of at school, and Dad had had to go and yell at the teachers about it. She kicks at a rock with her shoe while sitting on the edge of the sidewalk, waiting for her mom to come pick her up after a particularly brutal game. It's the first time she's ever been called a dyke on the ice, or at least--

It's the first time it hits home.

She feels like she's proving them all right, that a girl can't play hockey unless there's something wrong with her. Like _she_ can't. But it's not like she wishes she was a boy; she loves being a girl, and last month her mom had asked her if she'd wanted to cut her hair and PK had yelled, "No, are you crazy!" so quickly that Nastassia and Natasha both burst into hysterics and insisted on helping her braid it, even though braiding fucking _hurts_ and takes _hours_.

She feels like being a boy would have been easier though.

She kisses Johnny when she's fifteen, on a stupid dare in one of the guy's basements, with a bunch of girls they'd invited from school, and a dumb bottle that they're all spinning even though PK thinks she'd rather be anywhere else. 

Johnny says, "This okay, PK?" before he does it though, and she can see his freckles standing out on his pale skin, and she swallows, and nods, and lets him kiss her. And she kisses back, because she likes it, oh God, it's a stupid stomach-dropping relief, and she doesn't really like _Johnny_ because he's her best friend and kind of a tool, but she liked kissing him anyway. 

She flops backwards and makes all the right noises--the, "Ugh, Johnny, you drool," so that everybody can laugh and giggle before the next guy takes his turn. 

It doesn't land on PK again, and she goes home in the morning a little tired and still, really, really relieved. It takes another two years for her to decide it doesn't matter either way, because she's being drafted to the Montreal Canadiens, and she wasn't anywhere near first, and hell, she'll probably end up as a Bulldog, but _she's drafted_ , and who really cares if she likes boys or not?

Then she meets Carey, and it matters again.

It matters because Carey is kind of quiet, but has this funny accent when she does talk, and it's always to insult PK, or make fun of her, and it makes PK feel awful, mostly, when she can't stop looking in the locker room, because Carey is taller than her, with wide shoulders and strong thighs and breasts big enough that the guys make fun of her for it, like she comes with her own extra goalie pads.

Carey will flip them all off, say something about, "Yeah, why don't you take a puck to the nuts and see how you feel about _extra padding_ then," and PK averts her eyes, before somebody notices her staring. 

PK's been able to look at a couple people, over the years, and think _she's pretty,_ or _I'd so do him_ , and she's not exactly a virgin anymore, if getting off as fast as possible in an upstairs bathroom at a college house party in Hamilton counts, but she doesn't think she's ever really had a crush, and cataloging this, that's definitely what it is. 

Worse is that Carey has a boyfriend, this scrawny little white boy with glasses that are, admittedly kind of cute on him, and PK knows it's none of her business, and that Carey should just be happy, but he seems so wrong for her that PK doesn't like him on principle, and when Carey introduces them, PK finds herself being a bit of a bitch. 

She winces, after, and chokes down her beer and doesn't apologize, because that'll make it worse, and she feels--God. She's already one of the only girls in the league, one of only two on the Canadiens, and there are even fewer black players than there are female players--minus Rayna Emery, PK's the only black female in the entire NHL.

She feels like she has a target painted on her back, and being a bitch because she has a crush on her straight, female goalie isn't going to lessen that target, but she can't help it. She goes home, feeling drunk and stupid and dumb and vindictive, and isn't all that surprised when she's scratched from the next game.

She is surprised, though, when a week later, Carey asks her if she wants to come over and hang out. Carey's not usually one to offer out stuff like that, but PK says yes anyway, because it's Carey and of course she wants to hang out with Carey. They end up playing video games, because Carey's a secret nerd who owns every video game ever made, on every platform, and PK hasn't played the shit where you have to blow in the back of the game before plugging it in in _ages_ , and it's kind of a throwback to the past. 

"So, hey," Carey says, as PK's trying to get a yoshi to stay the fuck still so she can jump on it, "I broke up with Ryan."

PK fumbles, and the yoshi springs away into the opposite direction. She can't bother with chasing after it, instead turning to look at Carey. "What?" she asks, and then shakes her head. "Why?"

"He was a dick to you," Carey mutters, and then drops her remote, giving up the pretense. "I just wanted you to know I broke up with him. I'm not cool with that shit, and you should have told me he was being an ass, I would've ended it right there."

PK blinks, and then slowly sits back. "What shit?" because, as far as PK had been able to tell, she'd been the one with the needed attitude adjustment. 

"You know, the racist shit," Carey says, blunt.

PK can't help it; she laughs.

"What the fuck?" Carey mutters, and reaches out to pinch PK hard enough that she stops laughing.

"Motherfucker!" she yells instead, and then glares at Carey. "Man, I was just laughing because I didn't even notice."

"Notice what?"

"The 'racist shit'," she quotes, raising her hands to do the Ross Geller thing. Carey scowls. "No, seriously," PK adds, settling in on the sofa, "I mean, I guess I noticed a little, but that shit's normal. I'm used to it."

"That's not alright, PK, you shouldn't just let people get away with that," Carey says, all determined and driven to find PK justice or something. PK rolls her eyes and struggles not to laugh in Carey's face again, even though Carey has her own set of issues like this to deal with, what with being First Nation and everything. It's different though, PK thinks, and presses her lips together, trying to think of way to explain it. Finally, she says, "Carey, that's nice and all, but you're not the black girl that grew up in a ninety-nine percent white neighborhood, playing in a ninety-nine point nine percent white male-oriented sport. I mean, you're right, it's shit, but whining about it isn't going to do me any favors. If your guy had gotten in my face I'd have told you, but as it is, it's not even worth thinking about, you know?"

"Such bullshit," Carey says, disbelieving. PK kind of wants to kick her, but holds herself back. She shrugs instead, and the grins and says, "Thanks for worrying about my feelings, Pricey," and has to dodge the kick that's aimed straight at her ass, while laughing and half-falling off the sofa. "Just don't go trying to protect me or whatever, eh?" PK says, getting back on the sofa in a comfortable spot. "It's my job to protect _you_."

"Yeah, whatever," Carey says, and PK barely notices her fidgeting with her nintendo controller before Carey's leaning over and pressing her lips to the corner of PK's mouth, knocking their foreheads together gently. 

"What?" PK croaks.

"So maybe I had more than one reason for breaking it off," Carey says, quietly. "Can I--"

PK pushes up on her knees and kisses Carey hard, sliding a hand to the back of her neck, fingers sliding into the loose strands of her hair. "Yeah," she mutters against Carey's lips, because that's pretty much always going to be the answer.

Later on, having moved to Carey's bedroom and now situated on the bed with one of PK's legs thrown over Carey's, and a hand splayed over Carey's breast, thumb circling the ridiculously pink nipple, PK has to laugh to herself, and she ends up shaking with it, making Carey scratch up her back gently and say, "What now?"

"Man," PK says, grinning against Carey's neck, and then using her elbow to sit up, so that she can look at Carey's face, "I am a black, female lesbian in the National Hockey League. Do you think they'll put me in the Hall of Fame? I could be like, an inspiration for young girls everywhere in twenty years."

"Yeah, PK," Carey says, kind of sarcastically but smiling a little anyway, and it makes PK's stomach flutter, "you're an inspiration alright."

"Pfft, I was ten minutes ago," and she slips the hand playing with Carey's breast down instead, under the sheets, and Carey's still so wet from earlier that she can slip her fingers right in, and make Carey's entire body twitch as she spreads her legs to give PK better access. 

"Jesus fuck," Carey says, and drags PK's head down to kiss her again. PK grins into it. Fuck _yeah_ , she's an inspiration.


End file.
